


why do you have to be so taciturn?

by allisonlydia



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Young Avengers
Genre: F/F, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, also call of duty zombies because who doesn't wanna play that with their girlfriend am i right, also maria hill and natasha romanoff are the bomb, have america and kate being cute gruff babies, mentions of cap and bucky because y'know everyone loves that shit, only mentions of clint and billy so far, references to lara croft and star wars because i'm a giant nerd, references to violence and non-con are tagged because kate's attack in central park is mentioned, they will feature heavily in chapters to come i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-09 23:26:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2002116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allisonlydia/pseuds/allisonlydia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kate really wants to know exactly how she has been looking at America. And then some.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ambiguity is a bitch

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from 'Jennifer' by Little Comets.
> 
> A big hearty thank you to all who have taken the time to read this so far. A very special thank you to Swetha and Thea for all their encouragement. Finally, the biggest Big Mac sized thank you to Ashlee (theredhoodie here on ao3) for betaing this for me so far. I couldn't have done it without any of you.
> 
> There is much more to come, I promise you all that.

Kate steps out of the club, full to the brim with sweaty bodies, alcohol and thumping bass lines, into the cool crisp night. She sighs quietly with relief. Billy had ‘mentioned’ (more like elbowed her towards the doorway) the fact that America had gone outside for air. The looks the two of them had shared all night across the claustrophobia-inducing room obviously weren’t as subtle as Kate first thought they were, so Kate followed her. She walks down the alley and around the back of the building, eyes flicking to all the torn posters advertising various events at venues around the city. Kate stands and waits while her eyes adjust to the near absent light outside.

Kate sees America leaning against the wall, one scuffed motorcycle-booted foot propped behind her. She grasps some sort of dark drink in her hand—probably jack and coke or something—and sips at it in an almost absentminded way. Kate thinks about a lot of different things. How she is on the other side of tipsy, how irritating ambiguity can be—especially from someone who is usually the embodiment of pragmatics—and how Miss America Chavez can look so infuriatingly perfect in this dim lighting. It’s as if the stars give her all the light imaginable whilst casting everyone else in darkness.

Kate feels frayed at the edges, worn like a threadbare blanket. 

“What the futz does ‘I’ve seen the way you look at me,’ mean, America?” Kate demands, all square shoulders and tight lips.

It’s three in the morning on New Years Day, Kate is on the other side of tipsy and she wants answers. _Liquid courage_ , she figures. Kate steps into America’s space and stares her down—she can see America hates that, hates feeling small yet loves the challenge of a prospective fight or battle of wills. She's using America's own nature against her, forcing her to stand her ground and confront her. America never backs down from a fight. The results are perfect; America tenses her jaw and scowls at her, she pushes off the wall and turns to face Kate fully.

“Straight to the point, aren’t you princess?” America says slowly, every word drips with dry wit. “And also drunk.” 

Kate can feel the anger radiating from America in waves, bubbling beneath the surface. This is the same anger she uses to pack every punch with precision, to hone her mind into razor sharp focus. 

“It’s New Years and just because you’re impervious to everything normal, including alcohol, doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself. And the term is ‘tipsy’, _princess_ ,” Kate mocks, grinning, proud that she’s not even swaying on her feet and still managing to at least _sound_ intimidating. Although, America can probably smell the alcohol on her breath. So what? It’s not as if she’s vomited all over her. Yet.

When did she end up becoming a mirror image of Clint?

Kate sighs at the thought and America cocks one eyebrow. “Well?” Kate pushes, ignoring America’s questioning look and folding her arms over her chest. “Are you going to answer my question anytime on this Earth, Miss America?”

“Why do you ask?” America questions quietly, folding her arms too, causing their skin to momentarily brush together. Kate's body reacts before her brain can process the implications; goose bumps rising up all over her arms. America's eyes flit down and watch all this happen, mouth twitching up slightly before smoothing out again, meeting Kate's crystal blue gaze steadily. In the frail yellow light of the streetlamp, they remind Kate of hazel, of coffee beans and the promise of another sunrise. Kate furrows her brows. Since when did she get poetic about America? _Tut tut, Katie Kate._

“Because, America, you appreciate things mysteriously and in little bits, but you don’t _say_ or _do_ anything with mystery.” Kate states, mouth dry with the anticipation of America’s answer. Kate is a detective; she can deduce things just as well as any gorgeous, dark haired super girl can. She draws her tongue across her bottom lip out of habit.

“Is that so?” America asks, barely audible. She runs her hand through her hair and sighs, uncertainty and vulnerability laced throughout the movement, making Kate’s heart pound harder.

America Chavez is never unsure or vulnerable.

“I told you that ‘I’ve seen the way you look at me,’ among other things and you know that. You're not some dumb little rich girl. Do you want me to spell it out for you? I care about you, Kate Bishop. Take that in whatever way you want and act on it how you want. I’ve said and done enough. Do what you want. I'm tired of people expecting things from me. Don’t demand all from me and assume that I will be content with having nothing back in return. Some things don't work like that.” She looks at Kate and narrows her eyes. “You’re so wrapped up in your own thoughts that I doubt you’re thinking solely of my little ‘ambiguous’ statement as you so _adamantly_ call it. So before you blaze right up to me in your damned purple dress with your damned purple lipstick demanding answers, think of what you want first.”

America states this all with conviction and determination, and with experience. With experience comes cynicism, it seems they both feel this. Now more than ever, it occurs to Kate that even someone who is as indestructible as America can be worn down. She has only seen this happen in little fragments, and to see it now, primarily because of her, makes Kate’s stomach twist with guilt. The pain of America’s past seeps through the impossibly high walls she has built around herself, making them start to crumble. Kate’s own mask slips down, her sharp edges soften. The permanency of America’s sorrow and suffering hinted at in downturn of America’s full lips speak volumes; it's like that America expects the worst of everything, as if she expects the worst of Kate. _America hides behind the solidarity that anger and pain gives her_ , Kate realises. 

America’s jaw clenches and she brings her fingers up into a first before flicking them out again. Kate’s mind is full of even more questions and compassion, but hardly any answers. Her hands itch to comfort America in some way, yet she feels utterly powerless. _Well, that's nothing new_. Kate sighs again and closes her eyes.

This is kind of the exact opposite of what she wanted out of this conversation.

“I’m sorry I just—I don’t look at you in any way—a-and I’ve never thought of my sexuality being anything but…” Kate stumbles over the words and trails off. What is she doing? She’s apologising to America when she anticipated it to be the other way around when she set off to confront her. Yet as stubborn as she is and as strong as Kate sets out to be, she has to admit that America is right; she has no idea what she wants. The fact that she cares about America factors into her hesitancy too.

America’s lips curve up a little and she looks up at the night sky. “You’re too busy trying to be someone else or someone or something _more_ , chica. When you figure out that being you is okay and more than enough, get back to me.” The stars at her wrists are starting to glow and she begins to turn. Kate catches her by the shoulder gently, turning her back around and leaning in before she can think about it. She does the only thing that she can think that would be some sort of a middle ground.

Kate presses her lips chastely to America’s, brief yet sure, and whispers in her ear, “To be continued?”

Kate is trying to act suave when actually; it feels like America has ignited a fire where Noh-Varr had only licked at with his sparks. It feels like America is smashing stars into her, as if _Kate_ is her universe, tangling them, moulding them to work with her veins. _Supernova-like,_ Kate thinks. She feels like this could be the start of something. Yet those high walls of America’s mind are a force to be reckoned with. They won’t just dissipate with the brush of her lips or the knock of her knees against America’s, even if she likes Kate as much as Kate thinks she does. Kate doesn’t know what to do with that. So she is trying to give America and herself the best thing she can at that very moment: hope.

Drawing back, Kate looks into America’s eyes and they reveal fleetingly that secret world America strives to lock away all the time. _Why?_ Kate wonders. America’s eyebrows, however, are doing all the talking, bringing Kate back from her reverie. _God, Clint is going to have a field day with this. America Chavez is a fucking enigma._ Kate observes that America’s eyebrows speak much more than her lips do most of the time. They are raised in surprise but her eyes hint at something else. They're glimmering with… happiness? America blinks and it’s gone, yet Kate is sure she saw it. They were bright and that’s a look she’s never seen on America except when she’s punching things. Or eating. Or both.

 _So I guess I’m pretty important then,_ Kate thinks, smirking.

America scoffs and rolls her eyes as if she knows what Kate is thinking. She tucks a few strands of Kate’s hair behind her ear—which somehow _always_ manage to flop into her eye—and trails the back of her knuckles down the side of Kate’s face. Unexpected doesn’t begin to even cover Kate’s feelings. America's eyes trace over Kate’s face carefully and methodically as if she is trying her hardest to commit this moment to memory forever. She rests her hand at the base of Kate’s jawline.

“To be continued.” America says.

Kate steps back and turns around, walking away. When or where aren’t valid questions to ask America, Kate knows that. America just _is_ , and she can’t expect her to keep to a schedule now.

When she glances back, America is gone.

-

Kate is in L.A, wearing scuffed purple high tops and workout clothes, sunglasses firmly in place. Joan Jett blasting in her ears, Kate resists the urge to pull out her futzing awesome air guitar moves in the middle of the hallway. She scrolls through her texts, seeing that Clint is up for archery training later. Kate locks her apartment door, glancing inside to make sure that Lucky has enough food and water before heading out. She has time for a much needed chai latte before her morning run when her trail of thought is interrupted by a blinding flash of light out of the corner of her eye. It could only be…

“America!” Kate exclaims excitedly to herself, grinning.

She jogs down the stairs and kicks open the side door to her apartment building. She could use a little drama to fuel her entrance, Kate smirks. She jogs toward the light. _Wow, it’s been three months._ Kate thought she’d run away for good.

But soon her grin turns into a grimace as she realises the glow isn’t from America smashing her way back into this universe, it's from the solar ray gun of one of Doctor Doom’s goons.

Kate figures that it’s gonna be a couple more months until she sees America again. She doesn’t care. Really, she doesn’t. And neither has Kate brought up America's number in her phonebook frequently over the past few months, the amount of times that this occurs daily climbing higher and higher the more time America has been away.

Rolling her eyes, Kate calls Billy and tells them to get their butts in gear, growling at the thought of having to rely solely upon her hand to hand reflexes. The one time she doesn’t bring her bow. The one time.

 _All in a day’s work_ , she sighs.

-

It’s past four in the morning and dawn seeps into Kate’s room like an unwelcome friend. It is past four in the morning and Kate wakes up screaming. The dream started off as colours, purple an ally that Kate never wanted to give up, yet violet shifted into indigo and the crunch of leaves underneath her feet as she walked through Central Park flooded her senses. Then there was his breathing. 

And now here she is. Years later and all the physical combat training in the world cannot fend off the demons which hide behind the dusty shelves of her mind.

The ghosts of bruises left by his touch on her hips seem to ache yet, when Kate hurriedly lifts her baggy sleeping shirt up, her porcelain skin is flecked only with the moles she begrudgingly accepted were going to be there for the rest of her life. The back of her neck is hot and sweaty and her long bangs are plastered across her forehead. She sighs shakily and does the only thing that makes sense.

She calls America.

It rings a couple of times before a groggy, “Chica?” croaks through the speaker. Kate smiles at the thought of a sleepy America Chavez, curls in disarray and clutching at her star spangled pillow.

“Catching up on beauty sleep, were we, princess?” Kate mocks, smiling even wider at the grunt America makes at her smug tone.

“It’s almost five in the morning Kate, what’s up?” America asks, all business-like with the hint of sleep still at the edge of her voice, cracking when pronouncing the k. Straight to the point as usual.

“It’s been more than four months since the last time we saw you. I’ve been trying to get Billy to give me regular updates on you, but now you’re ‘off the radar’ apparently. I just-I want to hang out. It’s been a while, Chavez,” Kate finishes, running her hand through her sticky hair.

“Glad to know someone’s been keeping tabs on me. Okay, how about I drop by your place later with breakfast—cinnamon latte and pancakes?” America says, the latter of her sentence sounding closer to a statement than anything. But to Kate, who had spent months on end travelling through various multiverses with America, it is more like a question.

“Yeah, that sounds pretty futzing good. My apartment has roof access so flying is cool or whatever. Thanks, America.” Kate smiles lightly again.

“De nada, princess, see you soon.” America hangs up.

 _Well that went better than expected_ , Kate shrugs.


	2. ice cream is not in fact shampoo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly fluff and banter, figured it'd be a change from the dark themes touched upon in the previous chapter. Enjoy, thank you all for reading and thank you again to my lovely beta, Ashlee.

Four months is the amount of time Kate’s had to come to terms with her feelings towards a certain superhero. Longer really, she supposes. Maybe she should’ve figured it out when she caught America looking at her with a rare smile which Kate had only ever seen on two other occasions: a) When beating Skrull/Kree ass to hell (and threatening to do the same to Loki) and b) When she kicked open interdimensional portals because they _needed_ her to, because she’s the only one that can do that, because she’s America fucking Chavez and maybe finally she will see that she is the hero that Gotha— Oops, Kate has been watching those stupid _Dark Knight_ movies way too much.

Maybe she should’ve figured it out then but she was too busy trying to figure out why she thought America looked so beautiful when the light hit her eyes a certain way. Or how the colour of the hot chocolate she liked to drink whilst traveling through space and time made her think of the colour of America’s hair first and reminded her of home second. Kate didn’t know what to do with any of this, so she ignored it in true Clint Barton fashion and carried on having fun with Noh-Varr and the team.

Four fucking months and Kate is still utterly clueless. Fumbling in the dark about Miss America Chavez when she’s dealt with superpowered beings, human douchebags, aliens, parents and mutants trying to kill her but now, because of _feelings_ , she’s left reeling?

Clint’s not the only one she should be calling idiot.

Why is it so hard when it comes to America? Eli, Tommy, Noh-Varr… Kate was in control with them, she knew exactly what she wanted and it was fun and just— Her mind comes up blank with America. How can a whole team of Avengers be so queer? Kate laughs at how ridiculous this all is. And maybe that’s Kate’s problem. She’s making everything so serious. Kate sighs; her life is starting to turn into an episode of _Keeping Up With The Kardashians_ —which Kate still has a whole season to catch up on.

America told Kate that yes, she wants to continue whatever it is that they started and then she runs away for months on end with no communication, even Billy incapable of keeping track of her? Bile builds up in the back of her throat when she thinks of all the danger America has probably been chasing around. Who does she think she is? _A superpowered Lara Croft,_ probably. America would smirk in triumph if Kate ever told her she thought that.

Kate wishes that running away isn’t the only solution America can think of when combating her emotions. Except maybe that’s all she’s ever been used to and all that’s ever proven itself to work. Kate thinks that she should probably sympathise with Clint more when he’s having girl problems in the future. He _was_ useful that one time…

-

About a week after New Years, Kate had gone to Clint’s apartment. Her phone rang and she answered it, a rushed growl from her favourite train wreck of a mentor started blasting through the speaker. She says favourite when she actually means that guy who acts an awful like a dog who invited himself into your home and helped himself to all the food he could ingest. After that, well, the rest was history.

Clint had said: ”The damn dog is eating all the pizza again Katie! Hurry up and get over here so we can salvage what’s left and watch Dog Cops and you know, maybe do some Avenger-ing later.” The line clicked dead and Kate sighed. Dinner with her father was off, a muttered apology with ‘Barton’ thrown in there her only explanation. He understood.

So they sat there, eating pizza and drinking ginger beer because it was the only thing even remotely drinkable in his fridge—Kate really needed to take him out grocery shopping—when she just blurted it out.

“I think I know what it’s like to be in a ‘friend-girl’ situation,” Kate said nonchalantly, the theme tune of Dog Cops played in the background just before the next episode began.

Clint raised an eyebrow in interest, not covered by bandages for once, waiting for her to go on.

“You know when I was last with the Young Avengers—Miss America? Yeah well, we uh, we ended up kissing on New Years. This was after she told me that ‘I wasn’t that straight’ and that I looked at her in a certain way that apparently showed that too? Barton, you know it’s bad when I come to you blabbing out my problems, so anything you have to offer on this subject would be great. And yes, it is a girl I’m talking about and no, I haven’t figured that part out yet either.” Kate spoke this all in a rush and Clint’s eyebrows climbed higher and higher until Kate thought they were going to fly off his stupid face.

“Are you going to make me inject a truth serum into you? Because I can ask Maria or even _Natasha_ for one of those, you know,” Kate stated coolly.

Clint swigged the rest of his ginger beer and grabbed another one for both of them out of the fridge before collapsing onto the sofa again.

“Katie Kate, please. I was just gathering my thoughts. Okay, when it comes to the sexuality thing, everyone is attractive. Come _on_ , I’d have to be crazy to not think that about Cap. Doesn’t mean you want to bang them. Or in your case it does,” Clint grinned and laughed at the dark look Kate gave him.

Clint cleared his throat and continued: “You know, Cap mentioned something about a guy called Bucky one time, maybe you should talk to him about that.” Kate raised an eyebrow in question and Clint waved his hands about, indicating that he wasn’t finished yet.

“What? I'm not a psychiatrist. So, you kissed her and she’s been gone since then?” Clint questioned and Kate nodded. “You expected that she’d go, I suppose, since there was no more threat for you guys to be punching the hell out of anymore, right? So, just leave her to it. If it’s one thing I’ve learnt about women, it’s this: If you feel confused about what is happening, it’s likely that either they feel exactly the same and are just doing a better job of hiding it, or they have already made their mind up. So just wait for her to get back to you. You left the ball in her court so to speak, so I guess you do exactly that. Wait for her to hit the ball back into your court.”

“Despite all the weird ass tennis metaphor you just used, you said some pretty okay stuff just then, Barton.” She smiled and punched his arm, not too hard but not lightly either and he ruffled her hair, much to Kate’s chagrin. They clinked bottles together and it was never brought up again.

-

Kate sighs. She did what Clint had said and nothing changed until she took things into her own hands and called America. Albeit, that was after a terrifying nightmare, but that’s all in the small print now.

Kate frowns. She needs to get in the shower. And stop thinking. America will be arriving soon and she needs to make herself look mildly presentable after her early morning start. Kate picks out her outfit. Ralph Lauren tights to go with the cute new skirt she bought, with her favourite purple shirt that she stumbled upon at a charity shop—What? Kate loves vintage—and, to finish it off, Dior lipstick. Purple, of course. She needs to live up to the title of prissy rich girl or princess or whatever somehow.

Kate is brushing her teeth when she hears a thud above her and then a knock at the door a few seconds later. Lucky is standing in front of it, tail wagging expectantly. She waves her hands about exasperatedly as she makes her way to the front door. _Door first and spit later it is then_ , Kate thinks.

She’s gonna look like such a dweeb.

She opens the door and America is standing there, red hood pulled up against the rain Kate can hear drumming against the roof and windows. The surge of relief and contentment that rips through Kate like a hurricane is terrifying. Kate is seriously battling with her feelings because, really, the only other person she’s felt this velocity of feelings towards is that dummy Clint and Cass—

_Really don’t want to think about that right now._

Kate looks into America's eyes, smiling hesitantly and trying her hardest to keep her eyes focused on her face and not the stark lines of collarbone that maybe she wants to lick. America's eyes are light; hazel, warm and inviting. She looks perfect, not a curl out of place. _What a time to be alive._ High waisted shorts show off her figure and of course, her trademark patriotic jacket, finished off with high tops.

America cocks an eyebrow at the toothbrush sticking out of Kate’s mouth and Kate just waves her in. Lucky jumps up at America and she smiles softly down at him, stroking behind his ears after setting down the delicious smelling bag she is carrying.

Kate spins around and gestures to the plates she’s already set out for their breakfast. She hurries to the bathroom, spits quickly and makes sure all toothpaste is gone before pulling her hair up into a messy bun. _Minimal it is_ , Kate thinks.

“You better have a good excuse for waking me up before five in the morning, princess, other than to feed your caffeine addiction and visit your dog. Since when did you have a dog by the way, Bishop?” America calls from the kitchen.

Kate smiles in front of the mirror and walks back into the kitchen. America is setting out their coffee cups and moves them so that they’re opposite each other across Kate’s breakfast bar.

“There are plenty of things you don't know about me, Chavez," Kate winks exaggeratedly. "Cinnamon latte and maple syrup pancakes? You _are_ my hero,” Kate teases as she drops down onto the stool.

“Where there is a want, there is a will. And when it comes to my stomach, only the best is afforded,” America says, grinning at her own wit.

“Is there anything you love more than food?” Kate laughs nonchalantly. 

“I don’t know, chica, your dog seems to be making his way up that list right now,” America says as she wolfs down her pancakes. Kate sips at her coffee whilst trying not to giggle at America’s child-like enthusiasm with food. “What, cat got your tongue, Bishop?” America waves her fork around, still chewing.

“I just can’t believe you’re sitting here in my kitchen, America. Where have you been all this time?” Kate says as she digs into her pancakes. She resists the urge to moan at how good they are. Kate doesn’t want it getting weird five minutes into America being here. Kate looks up again to see America smiling lightly at her, eyes bright.

"Told you the pancakes were good. Been doing the usual thing, travelling around the multiverses, kicking ass and making sure that you all stay out of trouble. Especially Loki," America says this all with an absolute casualness. Wherever there is someone to be punched, America will find them.

“Well, I’m glad you’re back now,” Kate smiles at her again and she feels content for the first time in a while. America’s eyes light up as she smiles with her cheeks full of food. “God, you’re gross. Do you even breathe when you eat? You and the boys are as bad as each other.” Kate laughs as she cuts up her pancakes carefully.

“Uh, I’m an interdimensional travelling, professional butt kicker, princess. I eat how I want.” America winks at her and Kate almost chokes on her pancakes. Kate’s life is an honest to god joke. Is someone is making her beat up track suited dudes who say bro constantly and fall for this woman who has no home yet is so warm Kate is afraid she’s too icy even for America to brave?

Kate supposes cheesiness is better than being psychoanalysed by everyone in the immediate vicinity after your best friend is kidnapped. Or how she came to be in the Avenger business. 

Kate sighs and picks at her fingernails, trying to distract herself from these dark thoughts. America looks up at her and again quirks an eyebrow, as if to say ‘It was a joke, you’re meant to laugh at jokes, especially mine.’

“So what happened to wake you up at the ass crack of dawn and demand my lowly presence, your highness?” America teases, looking up at her and grinning.

Kate rolls her eyes. “Yeah and if I’m your highness, then you’re my dirty scoundrel,” Kate says, smiling over at America. She is reminded of Princess Leia and Han Solo. America’s proud saying of, “Your ticket to the multiverse, princess,” all the more reminding her of the fact that their dynamic is that of a couple in space. Kate is brought out of her thoughts when she realises that she said 'my'. _Aww futz_ , Kate thinks, _that's a possessive pronoun._ God, her life really is a joke. Kate decides to play it cool, smirking when she looks over at America, the Famous Incredulous Eyebrow Arch of Chavez in place. Kate pushes on and says, “I had a nightmare. Things haven’t been good with me lately.”

“Things?” America repeats, putting her fork down. Thank fuck she ignored Kate's slip up.

Flashes of Kate’s nightmare flicker behind her eyelids like a tireless movie reel. Not yet, not now. Talk about something, anything easier. "I told you about Cassie Lang, right? Superhuman best friend of mine? Kidnapped by fuck knows who. I miss her. So much. She's probably dead now." Kate runs her hand through her long bangs and rubs at her eyes. When she opens them, America is standing close to her, hand reaching out, hovering over Kate's shoulder. She stays where she is but draws her hand back, rubbing at the back of her neck sheepishly.

"Kate I— I'm so sorry. Neither you or Cassie deserve any of the pain caused by someone else’s darkness," America says, looking down at Kate not with pity, but with understanding. Kate looks up at her, catches her arm and brushes her thumb across the inside of America’s wrist, tracing at the star there. America’s brows furrow a little, but she doesn’t withdraw from the feather light touch of Kate’s fingertips, nor does she look displeased, just confused.

_That makes two of us._

Kate smiles lightly. "Thank you, America." Kate is puzzled. America is still hesitant to make physical contact with her, even after everything they’ve been through. They don’t move from that position for a few beats. The desire to tug America down to meet Kate’s lips becomes unbearable, so she slowly withdraws her hand from her tracing of what makes America who she is.

“Hey, America?” Kate questions as the other woman takes her place in the stool opposite her. “We’re friends. And friends hug, and you know. Give each other comfort, that kind of thing,” Kate finishes, remembering their kiss. Kate doesn’t want to bring it up, she wants to gauge where they’re at right now before confronting her about that.

But for now, it’s enough that America smiles reassuringly at her before saying, “Sure, princess,” whilst finishing off her coffee and scratching Lucky behind his left ear again.

“Do you wanna go do something? Go out or stay in, I’m sure you can go get your xbox thingy and hook it up to my TV. Or we can go to the arcade, go bowling and get drunk later, if you want?” Kate says, trying to remain as cool as possible even though she is so afraid of the prospect of America disappearing from her life again as soon as possible. 

“Yeah, I’ll go grab some stuff. I’ll be back in ten, don’t accidentally put my jacket on in the meantime, chica.” She points at the jacket she’s left draped over Kate’s sofa. America laughs at her, opening up a portal, leaving Kate to blush at the memory, reminiscing back to how America had seen her practically half naked. 

-

They were travelling in Noh-Varr’s ship throughout various multiverses when suddenly Loki piped up.

“Team Queer! Look yonder! That planet is made entirely of ice cream. One time I tricked Thor into burying Mjolnir…” Kate scoffs at the new nickname Loki had acquired for the team. Kate zoned out as she rolled her eyes at another one of Loki’s long winded tales about the pranks he had pulled on his elder brother.

She zoned back in when Billy and Teddy were nodding enthusiastically and Noh-Varr was veering towards the dessert planet. America looked more interested than usual.

“Guys, seriously? Are we really going to visit a planet on Loki’s recommendation? You are all dummies I swear,” Kate sighed and flicked her long bangs out of her eye.

“Bishop, it’s not all about blood and guts. Live a little,” America said, smirking.

“Yeah, Kate, I know you like to boss us all around a lot, but quit being such an old lady about everything.” Teddy grins as Billy stifles a laugh.

“You won’t be saying that after I save your asses from the cookie monsters that probably live down there,” Kate relents, smiling a little, glasses in place and bow in hand.

Noh-Varr landed, and Loki jumped up. “Let’s go!” he said, wearing his familiar smirk.

A few hours and a few sundaes later, Kate made her way back onto the ship. Vanilla ice cream Billy had thrown melted into her hair, making her raven locks all sticky tendrils around her neck. She scowled. She had growled at all the boys and told them next time it would be her bow castrating them before going inside. America had already gone in, claiming that she had ‘Tomb Raider withdrawals.’ She could hear the faint sounds of gunshots coming from her room as Kate made her way into the bathroom to wash out her hair.

Running down the hallway in only a towel, Kate turned into the nearest room, immediately realising she had made a huge mistake as she pulled on a sweater that smelled spicy yet sweet with cinnamon—

“Well, princess, all you had to do was ask if you wanted a little company on this cold, cold night,” America said, looking up and smirking as her fingers pressed buttons rapidly, manoeuvring Lara expertly across the screen, taking down bad guys without so much as a sound.

“Fucking hell. Well, America, it’s not as if you weren’t appreciating the view,” Kate said, smiling lightly, she had decided that offence was the best approach with America in a situation like this. America looked up again for longer this time, her eyes flicking across the expanses of porcelain skin that Kate was doing a poor job of covering up. Her eyes slowly trailed from Kate's flushed cheeks and parted lips all the way down to the top of her thighs where the view was interrupted, blocked by the end of America's bunk. The most important parts were covered by America's jumper, but maybe America had the power of x-ray vision and she just hadn't told them, because it sure as fuck felt like it. The hazel of her eyes turned chocolate and then darker, making Kate blush even harder.

“Patriotic looks good on you, chica, maybe that can be your new purple, and you can leave all that to Hawkguy.” America smirked at her and Kate flushed, trying her best to give her a dark look.

“Yeah, yeah whatever America. I’ll be back in a minute with the _correct_ sweater on. And if you tell any of the boys about this, I’ll make sure you don’t get any Korean BBQ for a month.” Kate folded her arms across her, jaw strong, trying to appear convincingly threatening.

“This’ll be our little secret, don’t you worry, Bishop.”

She never told America just how right that sweater of hers had felt to Kate.

-

Kate throws her controller on the floor in frustration. “America, how do you even _play_ this stupid game?” Her player waves his gun about as yet another zombie mauls her to the ground.

“Chica, the aim is to kill the zombies, not the other way around,” America says, the tip of her tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth in concentration as she pummels shotgun shells into all the zombies around her player. She looks over at Kate, arching an eyebrow. “If you’ve broken my controller, you can buy me another one.”

Kate ignores her. “This game is dumb, why can’t we play MarioKart? Or even Zelda,” Kate whines as she gives up completely, dropping her head onto the arm of her sofa whilst America continues to demonstrate her prowess.

America rolls her eyes and says, “Will you quit complaining if I feed you and we go out bowling, maybe meet up with the guys?”

Kate smiles her sweetest smile and says, “You know me so well, princess.” She leans over before she can really think about it, and kisses America on the cheek. Kate panics and so busies herself with putting her boots on whilst America pretends to be bored instead of flustered, turning the xbox off.


End file.
